


(Not So) Mystery Guy

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Food mention, Kissing, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining Combeferre, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac won't shut up about his date with mystery guy, and Combeferre has to deal with it. Until he doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Not So) Mystery Guy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [milou407](https://archiveofourown.org/users/milou407/gifts).



Courfeyrac had a lot of little habits. Some that he realized, some that he didn’t.

Combeferre liked to think he knew every little one of them. Not in a creepy way, not in an _I watch you all the time_ kind of way, though he did watch him more than was strictly necessary, but in a best friend, _I’ve known you for upwards of a decade_ kind of way. When you spend that much time with someone, being so close to the and eventually living with them, you learn a lot about them. Especially, Combeferre supposed, when you were as infatuated with said friend as he had been since they met.

Courfeyrac had a habit of never shutting up.

That wasn’t a bad thing, not at all. In fact, Combeferre loved it about him. He always aid what was on his mind, exactly what he was thinking. It meant the man was always earnest and honest in a way that was refreshing and bold and beautiful. It meant that he sung in the shower, loudly and not always off-key, from show tunes to punk rock and everything in between. It meant that he filled silences easily, joked often, and was always ready to offer an opinion or a compliment. Hell, even in his sleep Courfeyrac was relentless: he was the most coherent somniloquist Combeferre had ever met.  

Combeferre loved all of it. He tended to be quieter, and Courf balanced him out well. His friend’s soothing and ever present voice never failed to comfort him and put a smile on his face.

Unfortunately, Courf also had the tendency to talk ceaselessly about things he was excited about. It was something Ferre thought he would never, ever see a downside to. When Courfeyrac was passionate about something, he flourished. His voice took on an edge of awe and wonder, his eyes went wide and bright, and that _smile._ He radiated passion and intensity and excitement; it was infectious.

This time, however, Courfeyrac was excited about Valentine’s Day.

Now, Ferre was happy for his friend. Really. He was. Courf had had plenty of dates in the past, ones that had been short term, some that lasted. Combeferre had liked a good bunch of them himself – his friend had pretty good taste, after all, even if Ferre did have to quell some irrational jealously to see them as they really were. It wouldn’t be fair to Courfeyrac if he let his feelings get in the way. They were friends, best friends, two of three supports in a structure of three pillars. He couldn’t let himself be that selfish. Besides, Combeferre didn’t mind staying friends with Courf. No matter how much he might want more, imagine what it would be like to have more, to be in place of those dates, he was happy and he wasn’t going to take that for granted.

That didn’t mean that Combeferre wanted to hear every little detail about this date and their plans for the night.

It had started off lightly.

“Maybe you could make him dinner? That’s what I’m doing for my date, it’s a classic and it’s intimate.” Combeferre overheard Courf telling Enjolras one day over coffee. “It’s classic and intimate. Which, by the way, going to need you to clear out for the night anyway if it goes well.”

Combeferre made his way over, watching Enjolras roll his eyes into his coffee. Courf looked a little taken aback to see his friend in the café, though they’d been meeting there for as long as they could remember.

“So, you’ve found a date?” Combeferre asked, sitting next to Enjolras. He tried not to sound indignant, he really did, but he’d thought _they_ had had plans to spend Valentine’s Day together with an awful rom-con marathon and enough candy and cinnamon hearts to give them stomach aches, like they had last year. He’d been looking forward to it. Especially now, since Enjolras was happily committed to Grantaire and would be spending Valentine’s Day with him. “Cutting it a little close, isn’t it? Only a few days away.”

Courfeyrac shrugged, a little abashedly, and Combeferre felt awful at what little disproval had slipped through to his tone, especially when Enjolras shot him a concerned little look out of the corner of his eye. Combeferre didn’t blame Courf, not at all. He didn’t know (at least, Ferre hoped he didn’t know) about his hurt feelings, didn’t know there were any feelings there to hurt in the first place.

“Yeah, it’s a bit of a surprise. I’m really excited, though.” Courf sounded like he always did when he talked about something he found awesome, but wasn’t quite meeting his eyes, and that was just unsettling. “It’s kind of a big thing for me.”

And how could Ferre resent that? All he wanted was for his friend to be happy.

Even so, he smiled thinly, unable to bring himself to ask for more information as he resigned himself bitterly to another Valentine’s Day alone.

\--

Courfeyrac’s mystery date was one hell of a guy, and Ferre was just about sick of hearing about him.

Any chance he got, Courf would gush about the guy. For the first time in his life, Combeferre found himself cursing Courf’s inability to keep things to himself, especially when he was excited. If he had to hear about this guy’s amazing personality or wonderful smile or pretty hands one more time he was going to explode.

As Valentine’s Day approached and Courf started getting increasingly jittery about his date, Ferre found himself drawing away, trying to spare them both of his bad mood. It wouldn’t be fair to Courf to subject him to that. The only thing Combeferre could think of that would be worse than hearing about mystery guy’s eyes ( _those deep brown eyes, like_ chocolate, _Ferre! Chocolate!)_ would be seeing him lose that happy streak.

\--

He was cooking.

Courf was cooking.

Courfeyrac was one of the best cooks he knew. Whatever he made was like ambrosia at his fingertips: he had a natural talent in the kitchen, but was unfortunately a little bit of a perfectionist when it came to his food, and rarely took the time to make anything more complicated than pasta, especially not for the lot of them, claiming that they would get lazy if he always provided them with five star meals.

But Courf was cooking.

Last night, he had prepared a cheesecake that was now cooling in the freezer, and today, Valentine’s Day, he had started early. Combeferre watched as his friend became nothing but a blur of curly hair and apron, whisking himself around the kitchen, doing this and that and singing along with the radio, smiling like every cheesy, awful love song they would have laughed at together on any other day reminded him of the mystery guy he’d be seeing only hours later.

A little dumbly, Combeferre had offered his help, only to be shooed out by Courf, armed with one oven mitt and a wooden spoon, which was threatening enough for Ferre to obey orders and stay in his room until Courf called him. Presumably to kick him out for the night, but he would much rather be out of the apartment if Courf’s date went as well as he assumed it would.

His good attitude only went so far.

\--

It was a couple hours before Combeferre was called out of his room. Enjolras had left some half hour before, having a low conversation with Courfeyrac before he did — probably asking for last-minute advice on his first Valentine ’s Day with Grantaire.

Combeferre sighed and packed his laptop bag, resigning himself to a night at the library, not particularly wanting to sit among a plethora of couples at any of the cafes he frequented. He planned to sleep over at Feuilly’s for the night – he was working late anyways, and not celebrating Valentine’s that day, so his flat would be blessedly romance-free.

Bag slung over his shoulder, Ferre had to take a few deep breaths to steel himself before exiting his room.

The lights in the rest of their small but comfortable apartment were dimmed, giving way to candles sitting among two full plates of deliciously looking food on the table, which was covered for the first time Ferre had seen in a table cloth and their good cutlery, the stuff they didn’t use because it was given to them by Enjolras’ parents and he cursed how unnecessarily expensive and pretentious it all was.

It took Ferre a few minutes of staring before he realized Courf was standing there, dressed far too nicely for Combeferre’s comfort, and looked to be waiting for a reaction. He was quiet for once, hands twisting slowly in front of him.

“It’s nice,” Combeferre managed a smile through his lame response, fingers tightening on the strap of his bag. He wanted to get out of there.

“Just nice?” Courf’s face fell a little, trailing down to his bag. His brow furrowed even further. “Where… Where are you going?”

“Out,” Combeferre answered slowly. Had Courf expected him to stay? To meet this guy? Ferre didn’t think he could handle that. “I thought you wanted some privacy tonight?”

Courf was unsettlingly silent, looking at him like he was missing something. It was a long, strained moment that stretched on in unusual quiet. Then, Courf _laughed at him._

Now Ferre was confused and hurt all in one, and he really, really needed to get out of there. Before he could even move, Courf seemed to find his voice.

“I don’t think we’re on the same page, here.” Courf’s voice was softer now, and _oh no._ This was it. He’d figured it out, and he was going to address it, _now_ of all times. Let him down easy. Ferre’s skin prickled, unease curling low in his gut as Courfeyrac stepped closer until he was tugging on the strap of Ferre’s bag, sliding it off his shoulder and letting it drop to the floor.

“What do you mean?” Combeferre asked carefully, carefully averting his gaze. He couldn’t look at Courf while this happened, not when he was already pulled so taught with himself and his stupid emotions. One look at those bright, honest eyes and he’d be gone.

“I planned this date for someone very dear to me.” Courf took Ferre’s hands in his own, and of course he’d be so nice and soft and gentle about this, of course he would try to get Ferre to see reason and let him down easily, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Courf’s hands were warm and soft in his, fitting as perfectly as they ever had. Ferre’s throat was tighter than it should be.

“I know.” Ferre tried to pretend his voice wasn’t strained.

“No, you don’t.” Courf squeezed his fingers lightly. “Let me finish. I planned this date for an amazing, beautiful, and ridiculous person. He’s one of the most important people in my life.” Combeferre had to physically restrain himself from wincing. “And he’s – Oh my God, you know what?”

Before Ferre could even look at him properly, Courf was up on his tip toes and far too close and then _lips,_ those lips that formed the most beautiful smile the world had ever been graced with, the lips that waxed poetic about the world and belted song lyrics and never stopped moving where there, on his, and _oh._

For all he’d imagined that moment, Ferre couldn’t pull himself together enough to respond until Courf pulled back.

“I—What?”

“It’s you,” Courfeyrac looked flushed, uncertain. The lips that were only moments ago on his ( _his!)_ were pulled between his teeth. “I set up the date for you. You’re wonderful and I’ve wanted to do this for ages but you know me, and you know I do best with grand gestures, and I guess maybe I thought a surprise would be nice because I, I don’t know, I couldn’t bring myself to just _ask_ you but you’re so amazing and—have I said wonderful? But I guess that wasn’t the best way to –“

“Courf.”

“—go about things, but I had no idea you would –“

“Courf.”

“Misunderstand it! To be honest, I thought you’d figured it ou—“

Courfeyrac only broke off when Combeferre leaned back in to catch his lips in a deep kiss, pulling back only long enough to continue his thought.

“Courf.”

“Hm?”

“Shut up.”

“Gladly.”

Combeferre would love to say they proceeded to sit down and have a nice Valentine’s Day.

Courf would like to say all the work he had put into cooking didn’t go to waste.

But neither of them were really disappointed when dinner lay forgotten that night.  

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friend! I hope this is what you were looking for with your prompt. These dorks give me life.


End file.
